


For the Love of God

by Nightfoot



Series: Goretober 2016 [5]
Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Betrayal, Gen, Goretober 2016, Horror, Immurement, the cask of amontillado
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 05:05:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfoot/pseuds/Nightfoot
Summary: A knight driven to hate Flynn due to envy decides to get Flynn out of the way once and for all.  Based on the short story "The Cask of Amontillado".





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Goretober prompt "Backstabbed", and is heavily based on the Edgar Allan Poe story "The Cask of Amontillado."

When Flynn Scifo was promoted to lieutenant, I congratulated him.  He had joined the Knights a few months after I did, and I took him under my wing.  It made me proud to see how he flourished.  Within weeks, I considered him an equal, and within months he had surpassed me.  What strength!  What charisma!  The rest of our unit looked to him as our leader even before it was made official.  For the first few months, he was inseparable from Lowell.  After that vagabond deserted, he began to spend his free hours with me instead.  We frequently trained together, he and I.  I could never hope to beat him in a sparring match, but when we finished, he always gave me a smile, a pat on my back, and said, “You’re getting better.”  He was an inspiration to us all.

When Flynn Scifo was promoted to captain, I frowned.  I loved Flynn, as we all did, but it seemed such a quick promotion.  Over two and a half years of hard work to make lieutenant, but under one to reach captain?  Of course he was a wonderful knight, but was he truly _that_ wonderful?  He became not only the leader of my unit, but the leader of my entire brigade.  They called us the Flynn Brigade, and no one seemed to mention that the namesake had only been a knight for a few years.  I was still a private at the time, despite the fact that I had worked hard since before he was even a knight.  Why was it, then, that I was a lowly private and he a mighty captain?  And when he was a captain, his arrogance became more clear than ever.  He sparred with his own troops, showing us up at every opportunity.  He had the gall to point out every mistake after a sword fight and then rub it in our faces by saying, “You’re getting better.”  Better, yes, but still not as good as him.  

When Flynn Scifo was promoted to commandant, I wanted to spit in his face.  Now, I knew, this was clearly a sham.  After a scant few months as a captain, he had the honour of becoming commandant?  This was preposterous.  He was only twenty-one years old, and I twenty-five.  He was but a child, and a commoner at that, and I - scion of a long and illustrious family -  was expected to kneel before him?  Him, this youth whom I had tutored when he first joined?  Every time we met, he would tell me, “You’re getting better,” in that mocking tone.  It was all I could do not to slap him, but by then he was the commandant and striking him would land me in terrible discipline.  

What, then, was I to do?  Every day I went to work in the castle, where I saw him strutting through the halls in his elegant uniform.  No boy so inexperienced deserves such honourable colours.  I am certain that he did something foul to gain favour with the emperor.  I have seen them standing together (and what arrogance for the boy to stand side by side with the emperor!) and noticed the resemblance between their faces.  They are related, I am sure.  Cousins, perhaps.  This explains everything, because nepotism is a much more logical explanation for his prominence than anything else.  He achieved his rank through dishonest means and something must be done about this.

I met Flynn on the street at dusk.  He walked home this way every night to return to his house outside the castle. 

“Good evening, sir.”  I fell into step beside him.

“Oh!  It’s so good to see you again.  How are you?”

“I am quite well, thank you.”  I thought about what the evening had in store and added, “Very well, indeed.”

“I’m glad to hear it.  I wish we had more time to talk these days.  I’m just so busy, you understand.”

“Yes. I imagine that commandant is a title that carries many responsibilities.”

Flynn sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  “You have no idea.  Sometimes I miss the old days when I was just a regular solider like you.  But,” he straightened up and smiled, “I can’t complain.  So, what do you have planned for tonight?”

“I have something of a problem, actually.  I fear some sort of monster has taken root in the cellar of my house.”

“A monster?”

“Yes.  It sneaked in when the blastia disappeared, I believe, and has been growing.  I don’t normally go down there, so it took me quite by surprise this morning.  I’m going to deal with it once and for all tonight.”

“Do you need any assistance?”

It did not surprise me that he doubted my ability to take care of this himself.  Truly, his arrogance is what makes him so easily played.  “Not at all.  I’m sure I can handle it.”

“It might be dangerous.  I’m not doing anything tonight; let me come with you just in case.”

“If you insist.”

We talked idly on the walk to my house.  He pestered me for details of my life, and taunted me over whether I was still single.  I find it hard, now, to recall why I was ever fond of this little brat in the first place.  Perhaps it was because I felt sorry for him back then, but I am long past such character faults now.

My home sat empty when we arrived.  I had inherited it from my family before their deaths, and as I have no partner, I live here alone.  “I like the new wallpaper,” Flynn said when we entered.  “It looks nicer than the last time I was here.  How long ago was that?”

“Six months, sir.”

“That long?”  Flynn smiled and shook his head.  “We used to dine together multiple times a week when we were both privates.  Let’s get back to having dinner more regularly, shall we?”

“Yes.”  I smiled at him.  “I would enjoy having you here during dinner.  But come this way; the monster is in the cellar.” I led him away from the entrance and to the back of the house, to a heavy wooden door near the kitchen.  

“Be cautious,” he advised.  “What sort of monster do you think it is?”

“Insectoid,” I claimed, and then motioned for him to go down first.  He always did like to lead the way when anything unpleasant reared its head.

We descended the stone steps into the chill dampness of the cellar.  The only light came from the open door at the top of the stairs, which grew dimmer when we turned a corner.  “Through there,” I said, and pointed to a door.  “That is the storeroom where it has nested.”

I followed close behind Flynn.  We both had our swords in hand, but Flynn was concentrating on the darkness ahead of him while I was concentrating on the back his head.  As he stepped into the storeroom, I brought the hilt of my sword crashing into the back of his head.  The crack resounded in the empty cellar and he slumped to the ground without a peep.  I feared I had killed him prematurely, but when I crouched and held my hand over his face, I felt the soft exhale of a breath.  When I stood, he was already stirring.  I had to move quickly, then.  

I dragged Flynn into the room, which was scarcely four feet wide and six high. My hair brushed the ceiling as I entered. Against the back wall were four manacles recently bolted to the wall. Flynn let out a moan and began to return to consciousness, so I quickly hefted him off the ground, leaned him against the wall, and fastened the cuffs around his wrists.  

“Wh… what?” 

I clamped the remaining fetters around his ankles just as he began to realize his predicament.

“What is this?”

I didn’t answer him right away.  Instead, I left the room with a bounce in my step and returned from another part of the cellar with a wheelbarrow of bricks and a bucket of mortar.  On my knees, I began to spread the mortar.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“Yes!”  I laughed and pressed bricks into the mortar.  “Don’t you think it’s funny?”

Flynn frowned and pulled at the shackles.  “I’m not sure I see the humour.”

“It’s a grand joke.  You will soon see.”  I steadily stacked the bricks, laying the first, second, and third layer.  

The chains rattled.  “I think this has gone on long enough.”

I began working on the fourth layer.  “Not at all.  I’m barely a quarter done.”

Flynn struggled against the shackles, but it didn’t do much good.  The bricks were far enough away from his body, thus he couldn’t hope to kick them and knock them down while they dried.  That didn’t stop him from trying, though, and I wondered how greatly he injured his wrists with all the pulling.  

“That’s enough!  This isn’t funny.”

“Are you sure?”  The bricks were up to my waist now.  “To me, it seems very funny.”  Each brick was thick and heavy, and it became a chore to lift them up to the height of my wall.  

“Unlock these shackles.”  

I hummed to myself as I worked on the wall.  It spanned from one wall to the other, perfectly blocking off the last foot or so of the storeroom.  The bricks, of course, were of the same grey stone the rest of the walls were made of.  Flynn watched me work with nervous eyes.  He still believed this was a joke, but I think he was intentionally lying to himself.  He so dearly wished it to be a joke, and was likely telling himself that any minute now, I’d burst into laughter and tease him about actually being scared.

“You’ve had your prank, ha-ha, very funny.  Now please, I’m tired and ready to go home.”

“You are home.”  The lines of bricks were now at my breast.  “At least, you’re where you’re going to be for the rest of your life.  That’s sort of like home.”

“What the hell?!”  The chains rattled once more.  “You can’t be serious!”

I smiled and gently smoothed mortar over the bricks.

“Why?!”  He growled in frustration as he fought against the chains.  I had installed them only yesterday, so there was no chance he could break them.  Even the mighty Flynn Scifo was not that strong.  “Why are you doing this?!  I thought we were friends!”

I worked quickly and ignored his questions.  There was a time when he could command me to answer him, but I would never take orders from the little upstart again.  Instead, I could relish his shouts of anger and confusion as I peacefully laid my brickwork.  He did so blather on.  Flynn called my name and pleaded to our years-long friendship, asked what he had done to offend me, begged me to think things through and realize what a mistake this was, and other miscellany.  I think I enjoyed his whining as much as I enjoyed the prospect of a Flynn Scifo-less Knighthood.  He always thought he was above us all, and hearing him beg me for mercy was a good and proper restoration of order.  

There was only one brick left to lay.  I had left a gap in the top row in front of Flynn’s face, so that I could keep watching his frightened and confused expression as I sealed him in.  

“You can’t do this,” Flynn implored. 

“And yet, it looks like I can.”

“Please!  For the sake of how long we’ve known each other!”

I nodded at his panicked face and picked up the final brick. “Yes.  Because of how long we’ve known each other.”

He started screaming, but the brick sliding into place muffled it.  I ran my trowel over the wall of bricks, smoothing out the drying mortar.  The wall blended seamlessly with the rest of the cellar, especially in the darkness.  It would be hard to guess that this room used to extend a foot and a half deeper.  “Goodbye, Flynn.” 

It was yesterday evening that I took care of the thorn in my side.  I had such a peaceful sleep.  When I awoke this morning, I lay within piles of blankets and pillows and thought about Flynn Scifo, my nemesis.  He would probably live for several days yet, and as I lay snug in my bed, he was rotting in chains in the pitch darkness of that tiny space.  The thought pleasured me.  

I descended the steps to the cellar giddily and entered the storeroom with a smile.  I was there to check on the bricks, I told myself, and yet I couldn’t help but speak.  “Good morning, Flynn.  Are you still among he living?”

His muffled shouts of indignation were truly the best thing to wake up to.  I believe he was saying something about being friends, this surely being a misunderstanding, and how it wasn’t too late to change my mind.  It was hard to make out through the thick bricks and his inevitable exhaustion.  I suppose he had been shouting and struggling against the chains all night, which was quite foolish of him because the sooner he wears himself out, the sooner he will need water.  But then, perhaps he would prefer speeding death along.   

It is evening now.  The Knighthood is in a tizzy due to the missing commandant.  They have, of course, made locating him their highest priority.  Even when he isn’t there, he’s the centre of attention.  There are knights knocking on my door now.  I have to wonder, did anyone see him walk home with me last night?  Is it possible they are aware I was the last person to see him?  Will they search my house, and if so, will Flynn scream loud enough to get their attention?  

I wonder.  

 


End file.
